


too much for one to love

by rippergiles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, M/M, Multi, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 19:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippergiles/pseuds/rippergiles
Summary: Nothing about his life is fair.





	too much for one to love

  
He’s watching a caterpillar in the yard, inching its way along a tree branch before dropping down and beginning to spin its silk. Remus is entranced by it, the way the small creature somehow knows exactly what it is doing, sealing itself away from the elements to become something entirely new before it emerges. The caterpillar will not grow wings, his nature book had told him, but instead will become nothing but bug mush before the butterfly begins to form. What courage would a caterpillar need to face its own destruction, if it knew? If it doesn’t know, what does it think it’s doing, crafting that cocoon?  
  
“Hi,” comes a voice, shaking him out of his musings. He jumps a little, wide-eyed as he looks at the girl on the other side of the fence. She looks to be a few years younger than him, with curly blonde hair and freckles across her nose. He’s seen her from his window before, but never face to face.  
  
“Don’t you talk?” the girl asks, when he hasn’t returned her greeting.  
  
“Sorry,” he says, his voice, though soft, sounding stark against the silent he’d been all afternoon. “Hello.”  
  
“REMUS!” comes a shriek as the back door to their cottage swings open. He flinches when the girl takes a step back from the fence as his mother charges toward him. Before he knows it, her hands are pushing at his back, forcing him toward the door while also trying to cover the freshest of the scars on his face. The ones on his arms and legs are already covered; Remus doesn’t own any short sleeves or shorts anymore, even pyjamas.  
  
“ _ Mum_,” he protests once they’re inside, though he knows it’s useless. “We were just talking.”  
  
“You know you’re not allowed,” she says, as though that settles the matter. “Do you want her to _ know _ about you?”  
  
The shame in her voice is nothing new, but it still burns hot on his face. She leaves him in the kitchen without another word. Remus goes back to the window and peers out, but the little girl is nowhere to be seen. He sighs, turning his gaze to the tree, squinting to try to glimpse the caterpillar again. He finds it, wriggling, almost fully enveloped in white now. He wonders if he could make a cocoon, emerge as something other than what he was. It would be worth it, he thinks, to be a beautiful little boy again, whose cheeks got pinched instead of covered, who was looked at with adoration instead of fear, who knew how to change into anything but a monster.

* * *

  
  
He walks down the aisle of the train, uneasy, waiting for the students flitting in and out of compartments to stare at his scars and bruises, horrified. The full moon was only three days ago, but he’d insisted on traveling to school with the rest of them, secretly terrified that if he didn’t, his parents would decide this wasn’t a good idea after all, and keep him home forever. He knows they think that there is no way an eleven-year-old can manage monthly transformations by himself, to keep it hidden from everyone but a few trusted staff members, but he’s determined to prove them wrong.  
  
Remus squeezes past a redhead girl and a scowling boy as they slam a compartment door behind them. He pushes it open slightly and peers in, seeing two more boys with dark hair on one side, shaking with laughter. The other side seems unoccupied, so he tentatively leans in.  
  
Remus takes a deep breath and gathers his courage before speaking. “Can I sit here?”  
  
The boy with longer hair gives him an appraising sort of look, then shrugs, gesturing to the seat opposite him.  
  
The other boy, with a bespectacled, messy head too big for his bony shoulders, holds out a hand to shake before Remus finishes putting away his trunk.  
  
“James Potter,” he says, with an air of confidence foreign to Remus. “This is Sirius, who’s surprisingly fun to be around when he’s outside the grips of his mum.”

The other boy laughs. “Nicer for me than you, believe me.”  
  
“I’m Remus,” he says. “Remus Lupin.”  
  
Before the train ride is over, they’re all chattering excitedly like they’d known each other for years. 

Against everything he’d been warned about, they never even ask about his scars.  
  


* * *

  
  
He has trouble looking at them, dreading their faces when he confirms what they’ve already figured out. The common room is mercifully deserted except for the four of them.  
  
“Since when?” James asks, a steely look in his eyes.  
  
Remus looks away, already mentally planning which belongings he’d need to repack in his trunk, as he would surely be leaving the next day. “Since I was a boy. Long before you met me.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sirius demands, stepping in front of him to make sure he’s not ignored. There’s more emotion in his face, a twisted expression that Remus can’t decide contains more anger or hurt.  
  
“I…” What’s he supposed to say? His family moved around so often to avoid neighbours discovering his condition, threats of torches and pitchforks and being hunted constantly looming over him, resulting in nightmares that persisted even now. He was trained not to discuss it even with his parents, because it only led to their distress, and he’d learned quickly that their comfort was placed over his needs.  
  
“I couldn’t,” Remus says finally. “Dumbledore made a special allowance for me to even be able to attend school. No one was supposed to know.”  
  
“Well...we know now,” comes a small voice from Peter. He’s stayed back, not inserting himself into the midst of things like James and Sirius. He alone seems to be feeling similarly to Remus, because he won’t meet his eye.  
  
Silence hangs between them all for a moment.  
  
Remus breaks it, nodding his head resignedly. “Right.”  
  
Desperate for something to do, he turns toward the staircase, prepared to ascend it for the last time and return with his trunk packed.  
  
“Oi!” James shouts, catching his shoulder. “What are you doing?”  
  
Remus sighs. “Don’t make this hard, James. I know no one’s going to want a...someone like me around while they sleep.”

“You must be joking, mate,” Sirius snorts, honest to god _ snorts_, and Remus stares at him like he’s finally lost it. “We’ve slept in the same room with you for nearly two years, and you’ve yet to bite any of us. Despite how appetising I _ know _I am.”

He throws an arm around Remus’ neck, tugging him close and planting a loud kiss on his cheek. Casual, like this is just what they did. Remus’ face is warm, but once the shock of his friends’ reactions has worn off, he’s smiling.  
  
“Y’know, Sirius and I were looking for a challenge, anyway,” James says, a scheming smirk forming. “Things were getting boring around here.”  
  
Sirius nodded, his face thoughtful. “Pete, will you run up to our dorm and get the book I left by my bed?”  
  
Peter does, seemingly eager to escape any lingering tension.  
  
Remus swallows, trying not to let tears fill his eyes. Even though James is acting like this is just an excuse to try something even more foolhardy than usual, Remus knows the effort is for him.

* * *

The bottle _ clank_s against the stone floor as Sirius sets it down, mournfully looking at the lack of firewhiskey inside.  
  
“Sad, that.”  
  
Remus’ head is swimming pleasantly with the liquor, the only way he can let himself be alone with Sirius like this. When he’s sober, he’s stuck overanalysing every move Sirius makes, trying to decipher if his flirtations are genuine or just a facet of his personality at this point. When he’s less than sober, he can enjoy looking at Sirius, his hair falling into his face, the easy smiles he’d never have expected could be for him.  
  
The classroom is empty, probably hasn’t been used in a while. There’s a bit of a draught, but the warmth of the firewhiskey makes the combination rather pleasant, hair on his arms dancing lightly where he’s rolled up his sleeves. There are a few small scars on view, but Remus is past being concerned, at least when it’s only Sirius or James or Peter around. They’d more than proven themselves. Remus shakes his head, still in disbelief that he could be worthy of friends that would not only accept him, but _ change _ for him.  
  
“What is it?” Sirius asks. Remus looks up, and the way Sirius is biting his lip and grinning at him ought to be a crime.  
  
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about being lucky.”  
  
Sirius waggles his eyebrows. “Getting lucky?”  
  
“_Being _ lucky.”  
  
“We make our own luck, Moony.” Sirius sighs and lets his head fall back against a musty wall-hanging.  
  
“Sirius,” he whispers, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s leaning in, and Sirius’ eyes are crinkling at the corners, and that’s what takes down Remus’ last defenses before he kisses him.  
  
Sirius freezes for a second, as if he wasn’t really expecting this to happen, had thought, like Remus, that they’d be playing this game until they were dead. Soon enough, he comes to his senses, kissing back passionately and pulling Remus closer, pulling his shirt untucked from his trousers.  
  
Sirius’ hands suddenly seem everywhere all at once, and it’s overwhelming in the most delicious way. Remus feels his skin light up with every brush, every grip, every nail digging in, every scrape of teeth. Remus is drinking him in like a man in the desert dying of thirst, and he never wants to stop. Tender, needy noises come from both of them, feeding into the wave that’s been swelling for years and is now finally ready to crest. 

* * *

Sirius doesn’t come home that night.  
  
Remus is pulled away by Dumbledore the moment he gets the news, off to drop in on key Order members to determine their safety, then seek out pockets of the werewolf community to gauge sentiment around the supposed fall of the Dark Lord.  
  
Sirius was supposed to help with the former, but he’d left only minutes before, only saying vaguely that he was going to see Peter. Remus can almost hear his motorbike approaching as he wishes Sirius was with him, wonders if he could have heard the news by now. He barely feels capable of standing in the immediate wake of Lily and James’ deaths, but knows he has to be the steadfast one between the two of them. He can’t know now how much worse things are about to get.  
  
When he returns home, weary and still reeling, Dumbledore is back, sitting in their armchair and waiting for him. When he had delivered the news of James and Lily, he was somber, but purposeful, ready to launch into action to ensure their sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. But now he looks confused, even shaken, and that terrifies Remus.  
  
“Voldemort has ways of tearing loved ones apart even more insidious than merely killing them,” Dumbledore says.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Remus asks, but his stomach is already lurching at the thought of what the answer could be.  
  
Dumbledore tells him, the spying, the betrayal, and Remus shakes his head, glaring at the other man as if this was his mistake, how _ dare _ he suggest-  
  
He runs to the toilet to vomit. He almost makes it. 

In a single night and day he loses James and Lily and Peter. And Sirius- _ Sirius? _ How could he be the one responsible? Sirius who he shares a bed with, Sirius who was James’ best friend from their first day at Hogwarts, somehow the same man whose guilt was so undoubtable that he was carted off from the scene of a massacre without a trial, already on his way to Azkaban. The thought makes Remus retch again, though there is nothing left to purge.  
  
And what of Harry? The boy lost both his parents, _ and _the man tasked with providing for him. Remus has a momentary surge of righteous responsibility, is ready to call after Dumbledore, knowing he would be James and Lily’s next choice to care for Harry. But then he thinks of his struggles with work, his three days a month he could never be around a child, and he realises with a pang that he could never provide for him the way he needs. 

Remus spends days throwing things out, scrubbing his flat until his knees ache and his hands are raw, bitterly trying to block out the garish celebrations of the world around him. If he can wash away any evidence of Sirius having lived here, perhaps he can pretend he hadn’t loved— didn’t still love— a betrayer, a supremacist, a murderer.  


* * *

Twelve lonely years pass where he’s just scraping by, sleeping where he can, eating what he can afford. Eventually the pain isn’t so ever-present, and only catches him off guard a few times a week, then a month, then a year. Those old scars are sliced open anew when he sees the Prophet that morning, that face Remus once found irresistibly handsome, mouth opening in a horrific silent scream. He was out. 

He’d told himself he was over the circumstances of their parting. He had to be, if he was to carry on living. He’s tortured himself with the question for years, going so far as to consider requesting a visit to Azkaban, but changing his mind because he knows the Ministry will look into him and make life harder than it already has been. But the news of Sirius’ escape brings a shameful thought to his mind. Remus almost wants the nearly unrecognisable prisoner to seek him out, to find him.  
  
Perhaps after all this time, Remus will finally be granted what has so long been denied: the ability to ask him _ why_.

* * *

Remus falls asleep on the train because he is always, incurably tired.  
  
When he wakes up he sees a familiar face, messy black hair, glasses, the image of a boy he used to ride this train with. But the boy looks at him with wariness instead of trust, and it breaks his heart.  
  
He spends a year getting to know that boy, the whole time wistfully thinking of what they could have had, how Remus knew him as an infant, but Harry doesn’t know him at all. They grow closer, the patronus lessons providing a look into the young life Remus had been missing. It’s almost enough to forget about what they might have been to each other, and focus on what they are now, until the day Harry hears his father while fighting the boggart dementor.  
  
“You heard James?” Remus asks, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.  
  
“Yeah...why? You didn’t know my dad, did you?”  
  
Remus confirms, omitting the facts of how close they’d been, how much the deaths of Harry’s parents destroyed him, how much he wishes everything was different. He suggests they call it a night, for Harry’s sake but also secretly for his own. Harry’s passionate insistence at trying again shows the best of both James and Lily, and his first success against the dementor makes the extra emotional toil worth it.  
  
What Harry says before leaving chills him to the bone. “You must have known Sirius Black, as well.”  
  
It’s more of a statement than a question, but Remus tries not to read accusatory tone into it. His sharp response makes Harry’s green eyes go wide, and Remus immediately regrets not keeping himself in check.  
  
“Yes, I knew him,” he continues, hoping he sounds kinder this time despite being unable to elaborate. “Or I thought I did.”  
  
His ever-present guilt looms over him as he watches Harry go; the knowledge of Sirius’ Animagus form that died with James and Lily and Peter was his alone now. He knows the risk he’s putting them all in, but he can’t bear to give it up so freely. It’s the only thing he has left of the other man that doesn’t devastate him to think about.  


* * *

  
  
When he sees Pettigrew on the map, the realisation washes over him like toxic sludge. He was wrong, this whole time, he was wrong, Sirius is innocent-  
  
He looks at the map again. Sirius is _ here_.  
  
Remus races out of his office, running the corridors as quickly as his feet will carry him, ignoring the curious looks he’s getting from students and staff as he passes. He reaches the grounds, the fading light illuminating the silhouette of the Whomping Willow, that marker for his destination each full moon. He’d come to hate that damned tree, spent years avoiding looking at it even when walking directly toward it. This time, he stares straight ahead.  
  
The tunnel to Hogsmeade seems the longest it has ever been as Remus tries to run at a crouch, aching and panting. When he enters the shack, he hears Hermione shouting for help. He bursts through the door upstairs, disarming everyone inside before he takes a moment to look around.  
  
He stares at Sirius, crumpled and bloody at Harry’s feet. They hold each other’s gaze for what feels like a long time, failing to communicate without involving the teenagers in the room.  
  
“Where is he, Sirius?”  
  
Sirius points to Ron, and the subsequent half-finished questions exposes the truth to Remus, the reality of Peter’s betrayal and Sirius’ framing. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are staring at him incredulously, and he knows they will have to explain, but he takes a moment to cross to Sirius first, helping him up, horrified at how easy he is to lift. When they’re face to face, Remus can’t help but pull him into a deep embrace, knowing a split second of peace before the others begin to shout.  


* * *

  
  
Teaching had been very enriching, made him feel like he had a purpose again, but he has trouble being upset the next morning that he has to leave Hogwarts. Though, as he packs, he can imagine James looking down and sneering at the fact that Severus was responsible. That gives Remus a tiny, tired smile. He’s sure in a few days he’ll be worried about paying for his next meal, but after the reunion with Sirius, the truth coming out after twelve years of terrible injustice and personal mistakes, his own transformation and night running wild, letting Peter escape...after everything, he doesn’t think he has room to feel anything else, right now.  
  
He is swiftly proven wrong after Harry arrives. As the boy describes his stag patronus, Remus feels his heart swell with pride.  


* * *

  
  
Sirius shows up in the doorway of Remus’ cottage, the last place his parents had lived, finally free to stay in one place once their werewolf son wasn’t around to necessitate their constant moving.  
  
“Hey, Moony,” Sirius says, an uncertain smile on his worn face. The change from the man he once was is again stark; a younger Sirius had never been hesitant about anything, rushing headlong into every situation with confidence on the far side of cocky and not a care in the world. Now he’s thin, filthy, but it’s the first moment they’ve been alone together in thirteen years, and Remus’ nickname is barely out of Sirius’ mouth before Remus pulls him in, smashing their mouths together and wrapping his arms around the other man. He holds him tight, close, trying to communicate through actions his mournfulness at the circumstances that had kept them apart for so long, too long. Eventually, Remus has to pull back because he’s choking back a sob.  
  
Sirius laughs, the utter bastard. “I know I’m out of practice, but I can’t be that bad a kisser.”  
  
Remus breaks, then, laughing and crying into Sirius’ dirt-caked shirt before pulling it off.  
  
“We have _ got _ to get you in the bath.”  


* * *

  
  
Their second lives together are coloured by war and Voldemort once again. He’s practically moved into Grimmauld Place, under the believable premise of being close to the action in case he’s needed on short notice, but truthfully, the opportunity to sneak into Sirius’ bed when other members left and the house went still was all the reason he needed.  
  
They give Harry joint gifts and share nearly every meal, and though they’re constantly surrounded by Order members, Remus feels, for the first time in his life, like he could be a cherished part of a real family.

* * *

They’re running side by side through endless hallways, Tonks, Moody, and Kingsley close behind them, all opening countless doors, all determined to reach Harry. When they enter the action, he loses Sirius in the chaos and is quickly occupied with fights of his own. With Harry still in the line of fire, Remus shouts at him to round up the others and go.  
  
Dumbledore has joined the fray, and the fights have largely ceased, Death Eaters scrambling to escape while Order members are waiting to see what happens next. Bellatrix and Sirius remain in combat, Sirius taking time to taunt his cousin even as he ducks her hexes. Remus sees what is about to happen only a second before it does, and his powerlessness to stop it paralyses him. Bellatrix’ curse flies at Sirius, and her mark is true. Sirius’ final expression seems confused as he falls back, back, and away. Remus is dangerously ignoring everything around him as his soul feels torn apart, the overwhelming injustice of the torturously brief two years they had stabbing at him like a thousand needles. The only thing that distracts him from the loss of his most loved, the destroyed final link he had to his teenage comfort and happiness, is the gut-wrenching anguish on Harry’s face as he charges toward the dais. He rushes forward, catching Harry around the middle and using all his strength to hold him back, even when Remus himself feels like rushing through the veil.  


* * *

Time passes. Grief sets in.  
  
Against his better judgment, Remus feels the pull of something new. She’s different from what he had, but still good, a partner who loves him and will fight for him, even when he himself is the only opponent. In the aftermath of Dumbledore’s death, his mentor, an ally from the age of eleven, he doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore. That night, Tonks follows him home without challenge, and his bed becomes a healing ground as they hold each other in their shared pain.  


* * *

  
  
His terror at fatherhood, the shame on Harry’s face as Remus tried to join him, his insistence that this too would go wrong because that’s just what _ happens _ to him, all melt away as he stares at his perfect human child, a son who has ten fingers, ten toes, his father’s eyes and his mother’s gifts.  


* * *

He kisses Teddy, gripping Tonks’ hand before he apparates into Hogsmeade and is immediately thrust into chaos. A Caterwauling Charm is already wailing through the street, but everyone seems to be ignoring it as a small stream of people make their way into The Hog’s Head. Remus follows, intrigued as the grouchy but familiar-looking barman is ushering the new arrivals through a tunnel in his wall. Astonishingly, years after leaving Hogwarts, it seems the last Marauder found one more hidden passage.  
  
On the other side is a room full of hanging hammocks, dozens of people milling together, their anxiety and uncertainty manifesting as a loud, persistent chatter. Silence falls as a door on the far side of the room opens, and relief floods Remus’ stomach as he sees Harry enter the room to a roar of cheers.  


* * *

  
  
He’s running, bits of the corridor are crumbling around him as spells ricochet, their origins and targets impossible to determine. A flash of pink grabs his attention, and he changes course to follow it, speeding up when he recognises his wife in combat with an opponent he doesn’t recognize. His heart aches; he’s happy to see her, but terrified that she left the safety of home to be here.  
  
“TONKS!” he shouts, and she spares a glance his way while blocking hexes thrown toward her. Her opponent looks toward the newcomer, and Tonks uses the opportunity to stun him, knocking him back into a pile of rubble.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Remus pleads as he reaches her, holding her round face between his calloused hands.  
  
“I couldn’t just sit there knowing you were here, not knowing if you were okay,” she says, her voice breaking despite the resolve in her eyes. “I’m an Auror. I’ve trained for this my whole life. I have to fight.”  
  
He nods, pulling her close one more time, giving her a tender kiss where both of their faces come away wet with tears. They grasp hands and run towards the sounds of destruction.


End file.
